This is an exercise in writing third person omniscient
Life turns and twists at its edges, folding in until no light can be seen, no sound can be heard. Light flows through the leaves of green reaching the brown grey carpet of cracked old branches and seaweed. But how did seaweed get here if not off the boot of the most unpleasant of seafaring men. Young Jack Hamstrung, who was usually named the village fool, always making up silly stories, had seen him travel through his forest late at night dragging a big bleeding bag through the leaves.
“It must have been the body!” Said Miss Grishwem. Tooting at the top of her voice and looking around the small crowd in that crowded inn of the Green Leaf for support of her claim. “Poor Mr. Dafferd.” She lamented.
Ogmar Beardstrong the dwarf ranger put his hand on her shoulder patting it lightly and then pushing her down to her seat. “Let’s not jump at such conclusions.” Said Ogmar. “The blood on the leaves was animal’s blood. Not man nor dwarf bled that blood. Mr. Dafferd’s body has not been found yet.”
Miss Grishwem bounced up from her chair tooting again at the top of her long neck sounding like a frightened chicken. Ogmar tried to push her back into her seat but she resisted making it all very comical for the other villagers who laughed heartily. “Let go of my shoulder foul peck!” Said Miss Grishwem.
The crowd all hushed down not wanting to offend the old foul tempered ranger. Miss Grishwem realizing her error, put a hand to her own gaping mouth and took her seat. Ogmar scanned the human villagers angrily, searching for any sign of mirth, but could find none. On the other hand no one stood up for him against Miss Grishwem’s hurtful words. He stormed out the door angrily, making it bang loud enough on the way out.
Toben the middle aged, red ale nosed, ballding village headman stood up slowly and spoke even more slowly, lingering on every word. “You went too far Grishwem. You know how sensitive the ranger is about his heritage.” Said Toben.
Miss Grishwem hrmpfd loudly and immediately began tooting and extending her long neck. “You men are a bunch of cowards. You think the same as me! None of us wants a dwarf guarding this village.” Said Miss Grishwem.
A hubbub of voices began speaking at once. Some for and some against. Poor Toben raising his hands tried to calm down the bustling crowd. “Now now.” Said Toben, barely being heard.
Miss Grishwem continued. “Why couldn’t they send a human?! What with our little girls walking around all day. And now this murder! I tell you he did it! Not some sea faring human stranger. You all know it. A man would not murder his own. Let’s vote! Let’s vote and see what you think. Who thinks this peck is the murderer?” She looked around for support and found none. But then Gavin Hellstrom, the young bookkeeper, raised his hand up on the far end of the inn. Then another and another until many hands were raised.
Miss Grishwem looked around pleased, until her eyes fell on the old dwarf standing furious at the inn’s entrance. Then her expression turned to fear.